


Liminality

by KyloReam



Series: Rituals [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Ficlet, Gen, Greek and Roman Mythology - Freeform, Hecate!Kylo, Introspection, Kinda, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rituals Series, hecate - Freeform, mythology AU, oh well, really poetic writing that probably borders on purple prose, witch Kylo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:18:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7310962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyloReam/pseuds/KyloReam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They call him Phosphoros, the light-bringer. They call him Chthonia, of the underworld. They call him Trimorphe, the three formed.</p><p>They call him Hecate.</p><p>(aka Mythology AU/Hecate Kylo)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liminality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voidrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidrot/gifts).



> After months of teasing, I’m SO EXCITED to finally start sharing Rituals with everyone! This is a series of loosely-connected Kylo Ren/Kylux one shots and two-shots that revolve around the supernatural and occult. There’ll be monsters, witches, ghosts, monks, inappropriate use of the Force (so much inappropriate use of the Force), and introspective pieces mixed with unapologetic sexy times.
> 
> Many thanks to [voidrot](http://archiveofourown.org/users/voidrot) for giving me the idea to write a mythology AU ficlet. I adore all the chthonic gods and I was immediately drawn to the image of Kylo as a three-faced witchcraft god.
> 
> I made a writing inspo playlist for Rituals, which you can [listen to on Soundcloud!](https://soundcloud.com/katherinternet/sets/rituals) Liminality was inspired by “Welcome” by Balam Acab and I recommend listening to it while reading.

They call him Phosphoros, the light-bringer. They call him Chthonia, of the underworld. They call him Trimorphe, the three formed.

They call him Hecate.

His nature is liminality. He stands at the crossroads in a space outside of time, perpetually caught between past and future lives. He guides those who ask for his intercession as they transition from one state to another. Like a watchdog, he is both protector and destroyer. 

To see Hecate is to see triple, light fracturing uneasily against shadows. Sometimes his face is that of a child, bright as a full moon, chaste yet seized with the wonder of the energy that surrounds him. Other times he’s eclipsed, turned blood-red as he enters the earth, or his face appears completely shrouded in darkness. He waxes and wanes between states. 

He holds two torches in his hands. One burns red-orange on recently-cut yew, sparks hissing from its edges and smoldering against his skin. The other burns blue-white on its ancient branch, fire stolen from ancestral gods. A long jagged scar traces across his face and down his shoulder where he was lacerated by this ancient torch. If he closes his eyes, he can feel the scar against his cheek, and he remembers snow white as ash, robes black as the underworld. He thinks about loss and healing, of abandonment and of being found.

Some refer to Hecate as a witch, a sorcerer, and it’s true he is strong in the force that surrounds all living things, even as he remains rooted beneath the earth. Mortals find themselves without the ability to move or even breathe when he manifests, at once terrible and kind. The scents of ozone and creosote, of sage and lavender, linger in his wake. He communes with the dead through an ancient helm, now melted down to be nearly unrecognizable, which he once retrieved from the ashes of the underworld. 

From his threshold, Hecate can observe rites of passage across universes. He picks up another helm, this one flecked with iridescent metals, and meditates on the shadows and glimmers darting across its surface. He watches rituals unfurl in forests and bedrooms, in barns and palatial mansions, in places beyond the stars. A fiery thread unspools, linking each story together, and a face swims into view for a fraction of a second: dark hair and dark eyes and a celestial scattering of beauty marks.

There’s a name on his lips.

No, Hecate thinks with a smile, there are _two_ names. 

How fitting for one who embodies his nature to be caught between two states.


End file.
